


Roach Talks Back

by BstnStrg13



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:00:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23543521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BstnStrg13/pseuds/BstnStrg13
Summary: After years of traveling with Geralt, Roach has a few things to say to him.  Based solely on the Netflix TV series, and not on the books or games.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Roach
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Roach Talks Back

**Author's Note:**

> I enjoyed the relationship Geralt has with his horse in the Netflix series. I have a chestnut mare who looks a little like Roach and I often wonder what she's thinking. This story popped into my head. It was also influenced by a lovely one-shot on fanfiction.net called "This is Not Roach the 27th" by lady emebalia.
> 
> I've only seen the Netflix series, so apologies if I've violated any Witcher lore.

Geralt stood in the stall and spread a thick layer of straw across its floor. It was not often that Roach had the opportunity to spend a night indoors, away from the wind and the chill. They were in the stable this evening only because the lord had offered them both a place to sleep. It was the least he could do, the lord had said, after Geralt had slain the sewer monster that was preying on his tenants. The monster had not gone down easily and Geralt's shoulder ached as he used the pitchfork to distribute the straw. Still, he tended to his horse's needs before his own. Roach deserved it.

Not for the first time he wondered if she minded being out in the elements so often. He rarely did. There was a freedom in sleeping under the stars. The air smelled fresh and the breezes whispered comforting things. Of course, the freedom wasn't nearly so attractive in the middle of an ice storm, or when a driving rain made everything heavy with water. Those were the nights Geralt wished for a bed in an inn, or for anything under a roof. He suspected she felt the same.

He pushed the last bit of straw into place.

"This is for bedding," he said to Roach, nudging the straw with his toe. "It is not for eating. I'll get you some hay shortly. I think that will be more to your taste."

Roach dipped her nose down to the straw, then raised her head to eye Geralt. Her ears flickered backward and forward in a dance he knew well. They were seldom still, those ears. They were her way of speaking.

"You did well today," he told her. "You can still run when you have to. I take back any comments I might have made about you losing a step."

Roach snorted and rolled her eyes, but only for a second. Then her ears came forward and she looked down at the straw expectantly.

"Yes," he agreed. "I'll get you the hay and a bucket of water now."

She moved aside so that he could step out of the stall.

He went to the well and filled a bucket with clear, cold water. Then he climbed the ladder into the hayloft and pulled several fragrant sections from a bale. It was good hay, he thought. Fresh, no smell of mildew. Roach should be pleased. He brought the hay and water to her stall.

"Here you are," he said. "Dine well. I am going to the inn for supper."

Roach eyed the hay but did not lower her head to begin eating. Instead, she gently touched her nose to his shoulder.

"It aches," he admitted, "but the wound is not serious. There is no need for a doctor."

Roach snorted, but softly this time, just a flutter of her nostrils.

"I'm not certain she believes you."

The voice came from behind Geralt. He turned to see a woman watching him. She was wearing a grey cloak, homespun but of good quality. Her hair was tidy and her middle-aged face was clean and still handsome. The woman was not nobility, but she was not a peasant either.

"Would you like to know what she's thinking?" she asked Geralt, gesturing at Roach.

Geralt shrugged. "I know well enough already."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. You speak to her. Haven't you ever been curious what she would say back?"

He didn't bother to reply. Curiosity was for humans, not something he indulged in.

"I can give her words," the woman continued. "For tonight only, I can give her words."

Surprised by the preposterous claim, Geralt studied the woman. Then he narrowed his eyes. "You're a mage," he said.

"Yes."

"And you are also a liar. I know of no magic that can make a horse speak."

The woman nodded. "Normally, no - there is no such magic, not even for the most skilled of mages. But tonight is the Night of the Serpent. And on this night, a mage of sufficient power can give an animal the gift of speech."

"'Gift?'" Geralt repeated, raising an eyebrow. "I am more inclined to consider _silence_ the gift. There are already far too many in the world with the gift of speech who have little of value to say."

The mage smiled. "Perhaps," she said again. "And perhaps you think your horse to be one of them."

Geralt turned back to Roach. "No," he said slowly, raising a hand to stroke her neck. "Roach is no fool. And I prefer her company to that of most humans. But I do not need to hear her words. We do well enough together without them."

"Very well." The smile remained on the mage's face.

"And now I am going to the inn for supper." And without waiting to hear the mage's reply, Geralt left.

* * *

Supper at the inn was good enough to fill Geralt's belly, but not so good that he truly enjoyed it. The ale was better and he drank two pints, then decided to treat himself to a third. He had plenty of coin and the ale dulled the ache in his shoulder. After that, he asked the innkeeper for his room.

The man led him upstairs and opened a door halfway down the hall. The smell immediately hit Geralt's nostrils.

"When was this room last cleaned?" he asked the innkeeper.

The man scowled. "Yesterday. I clean the room any time someone leaves."

"Really." Geralt walked over to the bed and pulled back the covers. The smell grew stronger and a herd of bedbugs scattered to get out of the candlelight. He stared at the skittering creatures and tried to muster a little anger, but the ale had made him mellow. He thought about the stable and the clean, fragrant smell of the hayloft, and knew he had another option.

"I'll pass," he said to the innkeeper.

"The lord has already paid on your behalf," the man insisted. "And you'll not do better in this town. I run the best inn."

"You run the only inn. I'll pass," Geralt repeated. He went back downstairs and out into the night.

The stable was quiet, save for the steady breathing of the animals. Roach had finished her hay and was standing with her head down and one hind leg flexed, the way horses do when they are resting. Geralt climbed the ladder into the loft, then spread his cloak over the hay and stretched out on it.

"Goodnight, Roach," he said, and closed his eyes. He would sleep well tonight, he thought.

_"Goodnight."_

He opened his eyes.

For a second he thought he had imagined the voice. It was female and it came from an indeterminate location - somewhere above him, or maybe even from inside his head. He furrowed his brow. Had his wound made him delirious?

He put a hand on his forehead. There was no sign of fever.

"Hello?"

_"Hello, Geralt."_

Well, he hadn't imagined _that_. That was a mature woman's voice, low and pleasing. He sat up and looked around. Even with his witcher's vision he saw no one in the loft - not a bat in the eaves, much less a woman.

_"Was supper good?"_

Geralt blinked.

"Supper was adequate," he replied gruffly, while thinking, _too much ale?_ But he'd only drunk three pints.

_"Not as good as my supper, then."_

He rubbed the back of his neck. There had to be _some_ explanation for the disembodied voice. "Yennefer?" he whispered, knowing she had the ability to communicate across great distances with other mages. He wasn't a mage, but he did possess some magic.

_"No, Geralt, this is not Yennefer."_

"Then who the fuck is it?"

_"Don't you know?"_

Geralt sat for a moment, then made his way back to the ladder and down from the hayloft. He walked over to her stall.

"Roach?"

The horse's ears flickered. _"Yes, Geralt, it's me."_

"So the mage did it. She gave you words."

_"Yes, but only until midnight. When the Night of the Serpent ends, you will no longer be able to understand me."_

Geralt frowned. "I'd like to think that I understand you, even without words."

Roach shifted on her feet and nodded her head. _"You do, often."_

"But not always." For some reason, that disappointed him.

_"No. Not always."_

They were both silent. Geralt looked into Roach's liquid brown eyes and wondered where his understanding failed. He felt a sudden pang of embarrassment. It was not an emotion he was accustomed to feeling.

"Is it my stories?" he asked her. "Do I bore you with the tales of my kills?"

She snorted. _"No, I like the stories. They entertain me. And you are not boastful."  
_

"What is it then?"

Roach swished her tail and shifted once again. Her ears twitched several times. _"I really don't want to complain,"_ she began, _"especially when I see the way other horses are treated. You walk when I'm tired, you have not allowed yourself to get fat, and you carry little. I'm grateful to have_ _someone who is as considerate as you."_

"But-"

_"But I wish you would bathe a little more often."_

Geralt lifted an eyebrow. "Bathe?"

_"Yes. I have an acute sense of smell. When you reek of monster guts it puts me off my feed."_

"I see."

_"And while we're on the subject, too much ale makes you fart in your sleep. That's hard on the nose too."_

"Witchers don't fart."

_"I beg to differ."_

Geralt stared at Roach, wondering if this was some equine form of teasing. But there was no merriment in the horse's eyes. She was regarding him with the same earnest gaze she always had.

He pressed his lips together and nodded. "Fine. More baths, less ale. Anything else on your mind?"

She sniffed. _"You could do something about the bard when he travels with us."_

"Jaskier?"

_"Yes. He never shuts up - he's always talking or singing. It gets on my nerves."_

Geralt grinned. "I can't argue with you on that one."

 _"And he never includes me in his songs. If he's going to spoil a perfectly good evening around the campfire with his howling, he could at least add my feats to the lyrics. We're a team, you and I. I deserve a mention."_ And Roach actually stomped a hoof as she spoke. _  
_

Geralt nodded once more. "Yes, we are a team. I'll suggest he include you, if I see him."

 _"'Suggest,'"_ she repeated, her tail swishing with disdain. _"You're a witcher. You should be able to intimidate him into doing it."_ She paused. _"I sometimes wonder..."_ she began, and then her voice trailed off.

"Yes?" Geralt prompted.

She said nothing.

He reached out and gave her forelock a gentle tug. "Out with it, Roach. It's nearly midnight, we only have a few minutes left."

Her ears flickered. " _Very well._ _I sometimes wonder,_ " she resumed, " _about the people you have let into your life. For years it was just you and me. I was your only friend."_

He shook his head. "There are no people in my life."

She nickered, and to Geralt's ears, it sounded like a chuckle. _"You told the mage I am no fool and you were right. I see very well what is in front of me. There is the bard and there is Yennefer, not to mention the girl that is tied to you by Destiny. They are all in your life."_

"And yet here I am, alone with you in a stable."

She snorted _. "Don't be obtuse. Just because they are not here at this moment does not mean they are not in your life. I believe you cannot go a day without thinking of the mage."_

Geralt cocked an eyebrow. "'Obtuse?' You have an impressive vocabulary for a horse."

_"Don't change the subject."_

He sighed. "Of course I think of Yennefer. She is a beautiful, exotic woman. Any man would think of her."

Roach snorted again. _"First, you are not a man, you are a witcher. And second, there is more to your thoughts than lust. You care for the woman."_

She was right about that. He wondered how she knew. Roach had seen little of him and Yennefer together - but enough, apparently, to put the pieces together. A thought occurred to him.

"Are you jealous, Roach? Is that what this is about?"

 _"Of course not."_ But she lowered her head and didn't look him in the eye.

He felt a smile threatening to break out on his face and checked it. Roach needed the assurance that he took her seriously. He stroked her neck. "Don't you know that you are my oldest friend and the only one I tell my thoughts to?"

Her ears twitched but she said nothing.

"Roach?"

She raised her head and met his gaze. Her large brown eyes were warm.

From somewhere in the village, a bell tolled. Midnight. He would never hear her reply.

Still, Geralt thought, he didn't really need to. He lowered himself to sit in the straw, then leaned his back against the wall.

"If you don't mind," he said to her, "I'll rest here a while. Sleep well, Roach."

She nodded and closed her eyes.


End file.
